


Lovesick

by FlirtyFroggy



Series: What You Want [7]
Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Fluffy Angst, M/M, Overthinking, moping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:19:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlirtyFroggy/pseuds/FlirtyFroggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>David knew he should just go to bed and speak to Rafa in the morning. Instead, he watched as the TV replayed the final point yet again.</i>
</p><p>US Open Final, 2013. Rafa is in New York. David isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovesick

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [Discovery](http://archiveofourown.org/works/939291)
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not meant to imply anything about any actual people or their lives. It's just for fun.

He had known it would be hard. Only a stupid person would think it would be easy and David wasn’t stupid. But he’d had no idea it would be this hard. He’d thought the hard part would be keeping it secret, sneaking around. He hadn’t counted on Rafa being knocked out of Wimbledon so early, on him going back to Mallorca almost before David had even unpacked in London. After David had lost in the quarters they had talked about spending some of their unexpected time off together, but they had never done that before and it would look strange if they suddenly started doing it now. Instead they, separately, spent time with their families and friends and, in David’s case, girlfriend. 

They spoke on the phone every night and Rafa asked how his ankle was feeling and didn’t tell him he was nuts to have played on it for as long as he did, and David didn’t ask about Rafa’s knee because he already knew the answer. David would talk to Marta and she would listen sympathetically and then lead him off to bed, and he would wonder what he ever did to deserve her.

He hadn’t counted on getting himself knocked out of Montreal so early, though he supposed that was more predictable. They had managed to snatch a little time together before the tournament started, and they had both laughed like drains when they saw they were playing each other in the first round of the doubles, much to the bemusement of everyone else. 

It had been so different this time. For one thing, it was early in the draw and the locker room was full of people. And for another, Feli was breathing down their necks. The one-on-one intensity was somewhat diluted by the presence of two other people on the court, particularly when one of those people was drilling you with personal questions that were none of his damn business. It was a testament to the affect Rafa had on him that finding the nearest secluded flat surface had still been David’s main concern when he left the court. In the end, it had been several hours before Rafa could get away and sneak to David’s room, with a little help from Feli, who turned out to be a very useful ally once he’d got over his indignation about being kept in the dark.

He hadn’t counted on leaving Cincinnati quite as early as he did, though in terms of seeing Rafa it made little difference. Somehow it was harder there to sneak time alone. Even with Feli’s help it proved next to impossible in the brief window of opportunity between Rafa arriving victorious from Montreal and David leaving less-than-victorious for Mexico.

He had fun in Mexico. It was good to be alone with Marta; do normal touristy stuff and forget about being a tennis player for a while. They walked on the beach and saw the sights and ate dinner and found a sports channel that showed Rafa’s matches, which they watched with a combination of anxiety and disbelief as he blew past everyone in his path.

He hadn’t counted on missing his friend. Not so long ago, calling Rafa had just been, well, calling Rafa. They would chat and tease and joke and talk about the future and talk about the past. Now, every phone call, every text, came with the knowledge that this wasn’t enough; they needed more from each other than just communication. Tension threaded through every conversation. It was no longer easy. They were no longer friends.

He hadn’t counted on not finding his form in New York. Rafa was flying and David felt like he was still stumbling. It hadn’t affected _them_ as such, David had never been as bothered as other people were that Rafa was a class above him, but it had made David introspective and tired. His head was all over the place and he was finding it harder and harder to pull it all back together.

Difficult as it had been to find time alone in Cincinnati and Montreal, New York was worse. Every second Rafa wasn’t sleeping, eating or playing tennis was spent giving interviews, signing autographs, posing for pictures and giving even more interviews. David was sure Rafa had never been under so much scrutiny or in such demand. Or perhaps he had and David had just never had cause to notice before because he had never been trying to get him alone for just five fucking minutes before.

He hadn’t counted on wishing he could be on the losing side of a Grand Slam final. He hadn’t counted on the twist of jealously in his gut as Rafa put his arms around Novak at the net and rested his head on his shoulder. He hadn’t counted on the lump that came to his throat as Rafa collapsed sobbing to the ground. He hadn’t counted on the disorienting combination of elation, wonder, frustration and longing as he watched Rafa win his thirteenth Grand Slam from 6000 kilometres away. He hadn’t counted on sitting alone in a room lit only by the flickering TV in the corner, exhausted by emotional whiplash and the late hour, waiting for a text that he knew probably wouldn’t come for hours.

He hadn’t counted on the text he had almost sent after the match: _You’re truly amazing. I don’t know how you do it. I miss you. I love–_ He had stopped there. They had danced around the words in Paris – inadequate euphemisms like ‘feelings’ and ‘care for’ – neither of them willing to say anything more concrete while they were still unsure of what they wanted. They had been dancing around them ever since. He had deleted the last fragmented sentence and sent the rest of the text as it was. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to say it, exactly, and neither of them was into the kind of romance that requires a huge gesture for every little milestone. But he didn’t want the first time he said it to be in a text message. 

It would take forever for Rafa to even get off the court, let alone be done with press and cooling down and physio. He was paranoid about his family finding out about them and super-cautious about doing anything that might call attention to David or appear in any way out of the ordinary, like texting or calling him before any of his endless family members or Feli or Pico. David knew he should just go to bed and speak to Rafa in the morning. Instead, he watched as the TV replayed the final point yet again. 

His phone buzzed beside him and he felt his heart quicken as he saw the text alert with Rafa’s name pop up. _Miss you too. You should be here. There’s still no-one else I would rather share this with._ He read the text over and over, grinning like the lovesick idiot he undoubtedly was. He almost dropped the phone when it buzzed again, this time flashing up an incoming call. From Rafa. 

“Hello.”

“Hello.” Rafa’s grin was practically audible. It sounded like there was a small riot going on in the background. “I won.”

“Did you? I wasn’t watching.”

“That’s a shame, you missed a good match.” Rafa had never mastered the art of keeping a straight face and he couldn’t keep the giggle out of his voice on the last word. David closed his eyes and lay back against the sofa cushions.

“Congratulations,” he said softly. “There’s no-one who deserves it more.”

“Thank you.” The sounds of celebration became abruptly muffled. “David, I meant it, you know. You should be here. I wish you were here. I want to share this with you. This feeling… you don’t know.”

“No, I don’t,” David said, too tired to really think about the meaning of his words or how Rafa would take them.

“Oh fuck, I didn’t mean –”

“It’s ok, Rafa, I know you didn’t.” Damn. He really didn’t want to rain on Rafa’s parade. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’m thrilled for you, I really am. It’s just frustrating not being there with you. When Novak hugged you I kind of wanted to punch him.”

Rafa laughed, as David had hoped he would. “Have you ever punched anyone in your life?”

“No. These are the levels of frustration we’re dealing with here.” 

Rafa laughed again. “David–” he began, his voice full of affection.

“I love you.” He was tired of carrying it around, unspoken. Things were harder than either of them had anticipated, but it was stupid to think they could make it easier by pretending they didn’t feel the way they did. And David wasn’t stupid.

There was a long silence. “I love you too,” Rafa said softly, as though even the walls around him couldn’t keep his secret. Then he giggled. “I love you too,” he said again, his happiness palpable an ocean away.

David laughed with him, joy pushing aside tiredness and settling down beside the longing and frustration. 

It would always be hard, David knew. As long as they were on the tour nothing would be easy. Maybe even after that, if they lasted so long. David listened to the voice of his lover, his friend; watched once more as he hid his face and cried with happiness.

It was worth it.


End file.
